Generate Gunsmoke Again
by Andrew C. Jackson
Summary: In No Man's Land, people are finally learning to survive on the coarse and barren planet. Then, following the events of July, a mysterious blue box crashes in the desert. What happens when the Humanoid Typhoon meets the Oncoming Storm?


The planet's two suns hung low over the desert landscape that extended as far as the eye could see. The winds were strong, creating a shroud of sand across the terrestrial surface. The storms of No Man's Land wreaked havoc on the struggling civilization upon it. Meanwhile the consequences of one humanoid typhoon caused a storm outside the atmospheric boundary.

A solar wind berated a small, oddly shaped, vessel that attempted to slingshot around it. The blue box was naturally equipped to deal with normal interstellar radiation, but these winds struck with a unique ferocity. Such a thing may not have been a problem if the ship had the recommended crew required to successfully navigate the far reaches of space. Unfortunately she had only the one. A madman. And as a crew of one he couldn't flip every switch or pull every lever at once and his calibration to adjust for the sudden onslaught failed. He lost control.

The box spun wildly as it plummeted toward the planet below. The pilot accepted that he could not halt the descent but, with an exhilarated laugh, he did everything he could to decrease the destructive velocity. He rushed around the central console, spinning this, twisting those, and even striking that. When he entered the lower atmosphere, he activated the mass displacement field. Turning the dial to the negative he was able to alter his speed and trajectory. The box passed over a massive field of debris and finally collided with the terrain in an explosion of sand.

* * *

A gust burst from above him. Vash, a blonde haired man with a mole on his left cheek, wearing sunglasses and a long red coat riddled with bullet holes, braced against the strong wind. He stared at the strange object that streaked across the sky. After the flurry died down and Vash could move without being blown over, he watched as the box crashed near the horizon. He gripped his small bag of supplies and began to sprint toward to crash site.

He reached the more open desert from the debris filled area he had been in. The suns were completely gone by the time Vash reached the crater formed by the impact. Within the crater was a blue box. He hopped over the ledge and slid down to the center. Vash removed his sunglasses and inspected the box closely. It was large and wooden with what looked like a lantern atop it. He determined he had approached from the rear side since it was plain while the opposite end had handles and writing.

POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX

Vash had read about police in some old archives that survived the Great Fall. They were the peoples ancestors' equivalent of the sheriff's on No Man's Land. Except back then people lived on Earth. For this reason, Vash was curious as to what a box for police was doing crashing from the sky.

Vash tried looking in through the small windows, but it was too dark inside to see. He read the panel printed on the door. "Police Telephone Free for use of Public... Pull To Open". So he pulled. The panel opened to reveal a telephone, just as described. It was an old model. At least he suspected it was. It didn't have dials or numbers. He picked up the ear piece and listened into it. No dial tone. No surprise, the box wasn't even connected to a phone line. He hung the receiver back up and closed the panel.

There was another handle on the box. He figured it would be pointless to have two phones and the handle was on the frame as opposed to the panel inset. He pulled. Nothing. Glancing down, Vash saw what could be a key hole. Maybe it was locked. He tugged hard on the handle to test its give, but it seemed pretty sturdy. Stepping back to get a better position, he raised his right leg and smashed his heel into the door.

"Aaaayyyeee!" he cried when his foot hit what felt like solid steel. He started hopping around on his left leg, holding and massaging his right one. Then he shouted a terrible noise and flung himself at the door, kicking and chopping and hitting. He gave up pretty quick, though, realizing that nothing in his arsenal of combat techniques could get that box open.

"Arsenal..."

Vash grinned mischievously and retrieved his silver .45 Long Colt from its holster. Aiming the weapon at the bolt, he fired one direct shot which ricocheted into the sand. Would have been in his foot if not for his cat-like reflexes.

"That almost hit me!" he whimpered.

He shuffled up to the door and glared at the handle and key hole. He craned his neck at different angles as if to see something that maybe he didn't see before. As if something was now going to reveal itself. But nothing happened. Vash groaned in desperation and flung himself onto his back on the ground.

With a click, the door to the police box opened inward. Vash scrambled to his feet in surprise. In the opened door stood a man. He didn't have much hair on his head and appeared to be a middle aged human man. He wore a dark, leather jacket over a black shirt and jeans.

The stranger looked Vash over. He must have been pleased with what he saw because he produced this brilliant grin from ear to ear.

"Haha! Fantastic!" he beamed in an odd accent.

"Were you in there when that thing crashed mister?"

"Well, I had to be. This is my ship. How am I supposed visit the Truffles if I can't fly?"


End file.
